


it's a long way down (to the bottom of the river)

by paperpilots



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Gen, M/M, Medicinal Drug Use, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 10:05:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2305811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperpilots/pseuds/paperpilots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the moment he was born, the call of booze had burned through his veins, it's sinful hold wrapping itself around him from the first sip of champagne on his sixteenth birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's a long way down (to the bottom of the river)

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write something about Charles' alcoholism but I don't think that's what I got.

Even though the sensation of touch has long since returned to his once cold, motionless legs, he still feels numb.  No matter how relieving it is to feel the sting of a desk corner, scraping along the side of his thigh or the clenching of his lower abdomen as he wisps soft finger tips across the timid flesh there, the cause of his suffering still exists, evident in the ugly patch of pale, torn skin resting in the crevice of the small of his back.

The banister is smooth against his palm, never catching as he cautiously makes his way down the steps. The evening sunlight has crept its way through the barely kempt windows, illuminating a footpath down the staircase and glinting off the glass of whiskey in his hand. His hand glows amber, barely shaking as he brings the liquid to his lips. He barely hears Hank calling his name.

Most days he doesn't hear him at all.

He tries to flash a smile at Hanks hovering figure, but it ends up being more recognizable as a grimace. Framed by the door frame to Charles's (unused) office, his stance reads as it usually does. Disappointed, concerned, frustrated.  Arms crossed, his brow furrows a bit more as Charles goes to take another sip at his...fourth? Fifth? drink today, but ends up gulping the entire thing down.

He shrugs off Hank's attempts to reach for the glass, pushing weakly at his only friends (Caretaker? Prisoner?) chest. It's more metaphorical than literal, and Charles can't help but scoff at himself. Look how far he'd come. The last of the famed Xavier line. Wealthy, rich, handsome, smart Charles Xavier.

It's pathetic.  
He's pathetic.

 

Hours later finds another drink in his hand and the sun disappearing behind the horizon. He's can't remember what he's drinking now, only registering the familiar burn as it claws its way down his throat. Having realized the uselessness of glasses, he precariously balances the bottle on his chest, finding pitiful enjoyment in watching the clear liquid rock back and forth. Splayed out on his back, he tries to ignore the unsettling feeling of motionless limbs, instead choosing to rub the newly changed (much thanks to Hank) sheets until his heels are raw.

Raw. If not numb, he feels raw. Raw from the second Cuban sand hit his tongue right up to present, where instead of children, his only company is a heartbroken beast and bottles of his mothers liquor that he dragged out for playtime.

Really, it was inevitable. From the moment he was born, the call of booze had burned through his veins, it's sinful hold wrapping itself around him from the first sip of champagne on his sixteenth birthday.  Oxford brought the first party, his mother's death brought the first drunken stupor, and with that came Raven clutching at his shoulders as he heaved what was left of his sobriety into the toilet.

And then came Erik.

Magnificent Erik, with a mind of steel and a heart of led and the Polish tolerance to match. Together they had drunk each other under the table and into bed and before Charles can think any further his stomach contracts at the thought and Charles is heaving and heaving and heaving.

Hank changes the sheets without comment.

 

Sleep brings memories of blue kitchens and blue girls and blue mirrors. Everything is blue and he feels as if he's drowning, breathing in sea water with no hesitance. Arms wrap around him, urging him to stop, but he resists. He always resists.

 

It's probably noon when he wakes up and it's probably afternoon when he finally pushes up from tangled sheets and discarded clothes and stands with weak knees. The prick of the needle is nearly non-existent now, only adding to the constellations of scars that litter the crook of his elbows. His room, hazy and warm from the suns glow, is no longer the picture of a respected professor. Bookshelves once lined with textbooks and acclaimed literature now hold only dust. Records and abandoned glasses sit perched on bedside tables. The chess set, which had made its home here ages ago, now resides in an untouched corner of the mansion, it's disappearance brought on by a sobbing Charles and a bottle of rum.

The hallways are bare, doors sealed to keep out the remembrance of children's laughter and the soft click of chess. The carpet is rough against the bottoms of his feet and it's hard not to enjoy the prickling sensation. Hank's voice echoes down the hall and it's only when it dissolves into an ugly snarl that Charles actually hears him.

 

The sensation of touch has left his cold, motionless legs and when the stadium crashes down onto him, he's glad that he's numb. Unforgiving steel wraps itself around him and blood trickles down around his temple and Charles thinks just for a moment that this could be the end. There is no sand, but the taste of concrete and iron is strong on his tongue and the sounds of Erik's destruction reigns over the sounds of his constricted gasps.

When he pushes his way back into that retched mind, he can't tell which one of them is drowning.

**Author's Note:**

> This is completely un-beta'd and I have a feeling I will regret this. This is also the first fanfic I've ever written so criticism is super welcomed because quite frankly, I don't really know what I'm doing. Thank you for reading!


End file.
